


Instrumental

by deleiterious



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mild Smut, Minor Character Death, One True Pairing, One-Sided Attraction, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:02:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23974948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deleiterious/pseuds/deleiterious
Summary: In which Claude von Riegan is a violinist and Byleth is his violin teacher.That is, until she disappears.---Music Academy Claudeleth AU.
Relationships: Hilda Valentine Goneril & Claude von Riegan, Jeralt Reus Eisner & My Unit | Byleth, My Unit | Byleth & Claude von Riegan, My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 12
Kudos: 110





	Instrumental

Claude doesn't bring much with him to Garreg Mach Conservatory. He carries half a dozen boxes up the dormitory stairs by himself and he's unpacked by noon. His dorm room is small, enough for a bed, desk, bookshelf, and his favorite violin. The walls are made of stone and wood. For the first time in his life, he has to share a communal bathroom with the rest of the floor. 

  
The entire floor is deserted this early in the school year. His floor-mates will likely move in next week, when school begins in earnest for the general populace. He pulls out a slip of paper from the back pocket of his jeans. There's nothing but a building name and time scrawled on it in his grandfather's elegant handwriting. 

  
_'I pulled some strings.' His grandfather doesn't look up when he hands Claude a slip of paper. Behind his grandfather, their fiftieth floor view of the mountains is breathtaking; the brilliant blue of the sky unbroken by a single cloud. 'This is a private performance, a rare opportunity for you. Don't be late.'_

  
_Claude nods, watching his grandfather's face carefully. But they have nothing else to say to him._

* * *

  
Claude spends an hour or two exploring the school grounds, hands in his pockets as his eyes take in the tall buildings. Through expensive glass walls, he can see some staff and faculty having conversations, hands holding cups of coffee as they stroll through hallways.

  
Eventually, he arrives at an unassuming structure with a charming stone facade. He ascends the stairs, and pushes the door open.

  
Inside, there's an empty stage, barely large enough for a trio of performers. The stage lights haven't yet been turned on. In front of the stage sit a couple dozen seats, all but one filled with occupants. Claude quietly slips into his seat, stuffing the slip of paper back into his jeans. Scanning the room, it appears he's the youngest one here. 

  
Claude looks up just as the lights flood the stage. His mouth parts open, eyes widening in shock.

  
It's her. 

  
Byleth Eisner, the musical savant of Fódlan. 

  
Waves of dark hair, almost blue under the shine of bright lights, frame a heart-shaped pale face. Her eyes, dark like the ocean, look at no one in particular. She's dressed in a simple black dress that flows like water, pooling around her feet. She's already seated with the cello arranged between her parted legs. She bows her head toward the audience in acknowledgment.

  
It's so silent in here, Claude can hear himself breathing. 

  
When the bow meets string, a high keening note rings out. She begins to play. In one hand, her elegant fingers arc over the strings along the cello's neck; the other hand holds the end of her bow steady as it glides against the instrument. 

  
Claude watches her raptly, eyes narrowing as he scruntinizes her. She's just as they say. Her talent is unmatched; her technique is flawless. But her expression is completely and carefully blank. That's why they call her the Ashen Demon.

  
A demonic prowess in all instruments, but especially the cello. But her pale face never betrays a single emotion: the one thing that can elevate a performance as technically perfect as hers, something that can tether her to the audience.

  
This is the kind of music his grandfather wants him to play. This level of skill, which he's nowhere close to. Byleth plays the cello like it's meant to be played, full of emotion, kissing every nerve on fire. Her fingers dance along the neck of her cello, and he can feel every note ringing in his ears. He never wants to stop listening, but her performance is not long.

  
It's only when she finally stands to bow that he realizes it's over. He glances to his side, and sees similar expressions of awe on his neighbors' faces. She has them all so stunned she's almost disappeared from the stage before the audience erupts in applause.

* * *

  
Byleth doesn't look up at the sound of footsteps entering her office. 

  
"Hey, kid. Student rosters have been finalized. You interested in yours?" Her father, Jeralt, waves a paper close her face before laying it on her crowded desk. 

  
Byleth makes a sound in the back of her throat, picking the sheet off of her current work and setting it aside. Class doesn't start for another week, and she's in no hurry.

  
"For someone who claims to be retired, you sure have your fingers in a lot of pies," she says mildly. "What are you doing with my roster? I could have looked it up myself."

  
Jeralt shrugs, and Byleth detects a faint whiff of alcohol on him. "Call it pure curiosity." Her father's hazel eyes watch her closely. "You've got a lot of special brats in your first class."

  
"Special?" she echoes him. "How so?"

  
Jeralt sighs. "Oh, you know, heirs to powerful companies, that sort of thing. There's a lot of politics involved." His eyes darken. "Rhea's going to be paying extra close attention to how you teach them, so be on your guard."

  
Byleth isn't surprised to hear that. She expects as much if not more scrutiny from the headmistress to be the youngest person to ever be awarded a professorship at Garreg Mach Conservatory. She's never even been formally trained, never attended this academy herself. 

  
"I will be," she responds. Her words are simple and direct, and as she looks up at her father, there's a promise in them. 

* * *

  
Byleth sets down a cup of tea on her nightstand, folding her legs neatly under her as she peruses the student roster and does a little research on her students. The max capacity of each year's class is ten students. Small class sizes have been one of the strongest factors in the success of its students, and Garreg Mach prides itself on that so much that the rejection rate of the school is world-famous. Originally, she'd been assigned nine students to teach, but one of them dropped out so now she's down to eight. It's a shame, she thinks. The track she is teachig this year is one of the hardest to get into, and to get this far, only to drop out? 

  
Byleth takes a sip of chamomile tea. She pulls out her laptop and begins to type her student's names into the school's student database. The school database allows her to see their submitted profile photos, as well as some details about them. She imagines her students will get the same privilege with her.

  
Claude von Riegan. His photo appears on the screen. Green eyes, and a mess of unruly dark hair that she thinks must be somewhat intentional. His lips are pulled into a smirk, but it doesn't reach his eyes. Byleth can already tell he'll be a troublemaker. He's the grandson of the head of Alliance Music, one of the biggest producers of music in Fódlan. 

  
_This is probably the student my father was talking about earlier._

  
Next to his name on the roster, she writes, "Plays violin. Watch him."

  
Lorenz Hellman Gloucester. The name itself is a handful, but after pulling him up in the database, it's clear why. He's the only son of a famed family of musicians. They've been famous for their positions in operas, plays, and concerts for generations. Vanity is a word that comes to mind she sees his class portrait. "Classical pianist," she jots down next to his name.

  
Hilda Valentine Goneril. Byleth recognizes the name, and deduces she must be related to Holst Goneril, the most famous conductor on the eastern half of Fódlan. Holst himself was a graduate of Garreg Mach, and his name is one of many that make the school so critically acclaimed for producing musical geniuses. To her surprise, the girl plays French horn, which is an unusual selection for a primary instrument. 

  
Lysithea von Ordelia. Byleth is rendered momentarily speechless by the youth she sees in the portrait. She doesn't look ready for high school, much less college. Her eyes skim down to the age section, whereupon Byleth understands. Lysithea is fifteen years old, by far the youngest student enrolled in the entire conversatory. Pianist and flutist.

  
_She must be very gifted._

  
Marianne von Edmund. She looks so uneasy in her class portrait that Byleth quickly hits the back button. Marianne plays the harp, and is from another well-connected musical family. 

  
Ignatz Victor. Byleth notices that under the "Hobbies" section which many every other student has left empty, he's written "Painting." Like Claude, Ignatz plays the violin, although from what she gathers, no one else in his family seems to have a musical bone in their body.

  
Rapahel Kirsten. Plays saxophone. Byleth thinks he must have impressive lungs. Raphael is one of only two of her students enrolled on partial scholarship. She wonders if that means the rest of it is in student loans. 

  
Leonie Pinelli. Byleth is pleased and feels a certain fondness in her heart to find a fellow cellist among her students. Leonie is also on partial scholarship. Under the "Inspirations" section of the of her profile, there's a very familiar name: Jeralt Eisner, Byleth's father. Before he retired, Jeralt was famous for his cello playing, and went all over the world with her tow to perform. He taught her everything she knows. 

  
Byleth is considerably more interested in teaching now that she has the full roster. She hums softly to herself a new melody she's working on for her next performance, and drinks the rest of her tea. Byleth switches off the lights, and tucks in for bed.

* * *

  
On the first day of class, Claude arrives to the classroom early, but not early enough. Milling about in front of the door, he recognizes two people, who seem to be having a terse, yet polite, conversation with each other. 

  
"What a sight for sore eyes!" he exclaims with a grin that borders on mischievous. "Edelgard and Dimitri, long time no see."

  
He saunters up to them, giving them both a friendly pat on the back. Claude almost laughs and the serious expressions on their faces. They nod, rather rigidly, in greeting. 

  
"Claude, what a surprise to see you here." Edelgard's shrewd and calculating eyes look him up and down before something dawns on her and her thin lips curve into a frown. "You got into Professor Eisner's class?"

  
Dimitri chuckles, shaking his head. "Edelgard, that couldn't possibly be--"

  
"What? What's with the incredulity?" Claude replies in mock hurt. "Of course, I'm in this class. Why else would I be out here?" His eyebrow arches, and then a sly grin spreads on his lips. "Oh, I see what you two are doing."

  
Dimitri and Egelgard stare at him with flat suspicion. 

  
Claude waggles his eyebrows. "Are you trying to appeal to the professor to get into this class?" He almost laughs. Of all people, he's able to get in and not these two, heirs to his grandfather's largest rival businesses. 

  
"Some people seem to have all the luck," Dimitri muses aloud, although a knot of consternation is clear on his pale forehead.

  
"Oh, I'm lucky, alright," Claude replies mysteriously.

  
Edelgard snorts. "It's not luck, Dimitri. Everyone who wanted to get into this class had to submit a sample for a blind appraisal. You must be more talented than you let on, Claude."

  
Claude shrugs, letting them both believe whatever they want. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots her. She's wearing a short-sleeved black top and a long black skirt that flutters behind her, occasionally exposing the lace tights beneath.

  
Byleth Eisner spots three students already in front of her classroom, but she doesn't recognize two of them. One is a tall, blond young man, and the other is an elegantly dressed young woman with platinum-blond hair and dark eyes. She doesn't say anything in greeting, but stops when she finally reaches them. 

  
"Morning, Teach!" says Claude, with a wink that Byleth pointedly ignores. 

  
"Can I help you?" she asks of the other two. 

  
For some reason, they both shoot poisonous looks at Claude before turning back to her. 

  
"Professor," begins Edelgard, "I was hoping to have a word with you in private. About your class." 

  
Dimitri nods solemnly. "Same for me, Professor. If you wouldn't mind."

  
Byleth inserts the key into her classroom door, opens it and gestures for them both to come inside and then looks at Claude. "Please remain out here." 

  
Claude throws his hands behind his head, grinning. "Sure, not a problem." 

  
The door closes behind the trio, and Claude whistles a nostalgic tune from home while he waits. 

  
A few minutes later, two dejected-looking students come out of the classroom, followed by Byleth. 

  
"I understand," says Dimitri. "Thank you for hearing us out, Professor. Perhaps, we will try again next year." Dimitri politely extends his hand for a handshake, and Byleth clasps it after a beat of surprise.

  
Edelgard is quiet, but gives Claude another cutting look before she departs, her black, heeled boots echoing across the floor. 

  
When they both disappear around the corner, Byleth gestures him to come in. The inside of the classroom is a lot larger than the door makes it appear. There are two or three copies of a myriad of instruments, all ensconced in their appropriate cases for protection. Like most the classrooms on campus, it's soundproofed. Claude's grateful for the school-lent instruments, as he's not keen on lugging around his violin case everytime he needs to go to class, nor does he trust leaving it anywhere except in his expertly-secured room.

  
"Hey, Teach, are you going to assign seats?"

  
Byleth doesn't look up from her place at the chalkboard. "You may pick any seat you like."

  
Claude slips himself into the center of the front row, closest to the podium, closest to her. He pulls out a black and yellow notebook and a pencil, but doesn't do anything else really but stare at her.

  
Byleth turns to look at him at some point, leveling his stare with her own. He blinks, green eyes calculating, but gives her a smile. "Is my face that interesting?"

  
"Is mine?" she retorts.

  
By the way his eyes light up, he seems amused by her reply. "Didn't know they allowed professors as young as yourself teach here. You must be, what, twenty-one?"

  
She doesn't deign his question with a response. 

  
He's stumped by her appearance as a professor at this school. Regardless of her reputation, she's never taught before, as far as he was able to find out. It's a mystery he dedicates himself to solving one day.

  
"Why the violin?" she asks instead, turning the attention on him. 

  
Claude smiles, throwing another shrug. "Girls like it, I guess."

  
Byleth regards him, dark blue eyes boring directly into his. "Is that so?"

  
Claude leans forward, steepling his fingers in front of mouth. "Do you?"

  
Byleth's lip twitches, and Claude feels strangely proud to see any movement on that perfect, unbroken mask. "I'm partial to the cello myself." She pauses and the next words from her mouth make him freeze. "But you already knew that, didn't you, Claude?"

  
Claude is saved from having to come up with something witty by the arrival of another early student. She's the smallest kid he's ever seen on campus, and given all the little nerds at Garreg Mach, that's saying something.

  
"You must be Lysithea. Welcome to my class. Please, find a seat anywhere." 

  
And just like that, Claude feels Byleth's attention meander away from him, taking the fun out of things.

  
Lysithea takes a seat in the front row as well, but all the way at end so that she doesn't have to sit beside him. He doesn't find this behavior surprising at all, what with the way he sticks out no matter which country he's in. She pulls out a collection of cupcake-patterned stationary, colorful highlighters, a textbook Claude recognizes but that he hadn't bothered with bringing, and several pencils, all topped with glittery charms. 

  
It's absolutely adorable, he thinks with a twinge of his lips. 

  
Lysithea, as if she can read his mind, casts a glare at him. "What are you looking at?" she remarks in a voice that is too high-pitched to be threatening. 

  
"Professor Eisner, what an absolute pleasure--an honor, really--to meet you. I'm delighted to be a student in your esteemed track, and I cannot wait to learn with you." Lorenz bows at the entrance, making Lysithea gawk at him in disbelief.

  
"Lorenz," Byleth says, unruffled and not at all flattered to the level that Lorenz expects, "please, take a seat anywhere you like. The pleasure is mine." Her voice is so flat, Claude almost wants to laugh.

  
Lorenz, thankfully, takes a seat behind him instead of next to him. Lorenz talks over Claude's shoulder, much to his annoyance, blatantly trying to wheedle information out of the professor. 

  
"I admit I was most surprised when I discovered that a savant like yourself was teaching at Garreg Mach!" Lorenz says, hands waving about unnecessarily. "Why, I've never heard of such a thing in the entire history of this school. What brought you here, Professor? Do you enjoy teaching?"

  
Byleth busies herself with writing some notes up on the chalkboard. "I'm teaching this class, so yes, it can be assumed that I enjoy teaching." 

  
The clipped response shuts Lorenz up immediately, and Claude can hear a huff of annoyance behind him. 

  
Slowly, as the beginning of the hour draws near, more students filter into the class. Claude folds his hands behind his head, expression one of supreme aloofness, but Byleth can tell by the quick movement of his eyes, that he recognizes and has done his research on every person who enters that door.

  
As the last person on her roster enters the room, Byleth bids them to close the door behind them. Of course, it's Hilda Goneril who arrives last.

  
Byleth starts by introducing her class. "Welcome to the Ear Training track at Garreg Mach Conversatory. I will be your instructor. You may call me Professor Eisner. This year, our focus will be precision in rhythm, pitch, and musical structures. My goal is that by end of this course, you will feel confident in your ability to learn and train by ear. Are there any questions?"

  
Leonie's hand, in the far back, shoots up. Byleth nods, indicating her to go ahead. "Professor, are you related to Jeralt Eisner by any chance?"

  
"He's my father."

  
A burst of murmurs fill the otherwise quiet room. 

  
"Any other questions?" asks Byleth. She looks over at Marianne, sitting as far away from the rest of the class as humanly possible. Marianne immediately averts eye contact, and noticeably sinks into her seat as if she hopes to be swallowed up by it.

  
"When are office hours?" 

  
Byleth reluctantly draws her gaze back to Claude. "I will send my office hours schedule to you all when they are finalized. You will receive them by email."

  
He's grinning lazily the entire time she speaks, and Byleth wonders why on earth he's so infuriating. 

  
She passes out the class syllabus and then resumes her spot at the front of the class. "For our first exercise, I'd like you all to come up here and select an instrument you favor and set it up." Byleth holds out a hand as chairs start to scrape, and continues. "After you have your instrument, please find a partner to work with. You will each play a short piece, as mentioned in my introductory email, only twenty seconds long, and your partner must use their instrument to mimic it to the best of their ability. I will be listening and watching, so please try your best."

  
"What if we don't find our preferred instrument in here?" Hilda asks. 

  
"Then you will simply need to choose the next best thing. We are training the ear to recognize each note, no matter what instrument it comes from."

  
Hilda groans audibly. "But I only play the French horn!" Byleth gives her a long stare. "Well, I guess I can make do with a violin or something." 

  
Everyone gets up from their seats and picks up their primary instrument. There's a flurry of awkward introductions and requests to partner up by various parties. Ignatz and Raphael already appear to know each other and pair up wordlessly. Lorenz tries and fails to engage Hilda and Marianne and ends up quite sullenly with Leonie, who doesn't seem especially bothered nor impressed by him. They have to move to one of the pianos, and Leonie picks up her cello to follow him.

  
"Can we be partners?" Hilda leans onto Claude's desk, eyelashes fluttering sweetly. 

  
Claude smiles lazily back at her. "Of course, French horn. Interesting choice of first instrument, by the way." 

  
Hilda immediately pouts. "Why does everyone say that?" She sits next to him, but her false charm disappears as she unpacks one of the violins from its case.

  
Claude picks up his violin, already tuned. "Mind if I go first?"

  
Hilda suppresses a roll of the eyes. "Sure."

  
Claude tucks the violin rest under his chin, and starts to play an easily recognizable tune. 

  
Hilda's eyebrows knit together in consternation. "Oh, stop that!"

  
Claude raises his eyebrow, pretending to be surprised. "You don't like it?"

  
"That's my brother's song," Hilda snaps at him. "I hate hearing it everywhere." Her eyes narrow suspiciously. "I think you must know that."

  
"Oh, is it now? I had no idea," Claude replies breezily without responding to the accusation. He picks another song, something traditional written maybe fifty years ago, a battle hymn, and Hilda taps her fingers along the desk as he plays. 

  
Byleth is busy helping Marianne play a bit louder when Hilda begins her mimicry on the an accompanying violin. Claude's susprised to find that she's fairly spot-on with it. When the roles are reversed, Claude effortlessly matches the song Hilda plays, which is a classic children's song.

  
When Byleth has finished her listening tour around the classroom, she jots down notes, and has all her students return their instruments and go back to their seats. "Excellent work today. Now, if you could all open your textbooks to page eleven."

  
"You didn't bring yours, did you?" sniffs Lysithea at her end of the row. 

  
Claude shrugs. "I completely forgot. Mind if we share?"

  
Lysithea frowns, but acquieses. "Don't slow me down, though."

* * *

  
Things quickly fall into place as the months pass. Byleth is pleasantly surprised by the exceptional devotion her students have to ear training, and most of them keep up with their homework as well. 

  
One day, as she's grading papers, Jeralt appears in her office, quite late at night. 

  
"Hey, kid, still working?"

  
Byleth nods, scrawling a fifty out of a hundred on Claude's latest test. The odds of one of her students getting exactly half right, in a perfect alternating right-wrong pattern? At this point, Claude is just really trying to annoy her.

  
Jeralt scoops up the paper, a frown appears on his face. "This kid's smarter than he looks."

  
Byleth releases a small sigh, rubbing her temple. "You can say that again."

  
Jeralt hears the frustration in her voice. "Is he bothering you?" he asks, with a dangerous edge in his voice.

  
"It's nothing I can't handle," Byleth replies.

  
Jeralt drops the topic and sinks into the chair opposite her desk. "Look, kid. Your mother's birthday is coming up. I thought you might want to come with me to visit her."

  
Byleth stiffens. "You're letting me go with you?"

  
Jeralt shrugs, and for a moment, he really looks a lot older than he is. "I know I haven't been the most open with you about her." His eyes start to look glassy with unshed tears. "But, I figure, we're both here now and it's about damn time. She's buried nearby. She used to be a student here, too."

  
Byleth replies quickly, before he can change his mind. "Of course, I want to go see her with you." It's a rare chance to connect with her father about his past, which he's frankly dogged about keeping secret.

  
Jeralt smiles, placing a huge hand on her head and ruffling her hair. "Alright, let's go next weekend. Bring some flowers, will you? She loves them."

* * *

  
Group rehearsal is just about ending when Claude spots her walking off campus. 

  
"Okay, so remember, next week--"

  
"Hey, I'll be right back," he quips, ducking out of the practice room. 

  
"Claude!" Lysithea shouts behind him, shaking her flute threateningly. "Hey! Ugh, he's such a slacker..."

  
"Hey, Teach!" Claude runs up Byleth, who doesn't seem surprised to see him. 

  
"I don't have your test results yet," Byleth lies, not slowing down nor stopping. 

  
Claude grins. "Did I pass?" It's obvious he knows that he didn't. 

  
Byleth snorts, but it's barely audible. "You'll find out when the rest of the class does."

  
"Where are you going?"

  
"Home."

  
"Ah, you live around here? Faculty housing?"

  
Byleth quickens her pace, her heeled boots clicking loudly against the pavement and her long black overcoat flapping against the back of her legs. Claude keeps up with her easily, seeing as he's taller than her and rather athletic. She knows about his boxing habit because she sees him at the school's recreational gym every once in a while.

  
"C'mon, Teach--"

  
Byleth turns to look at him. "Why are you following me?"

  
Claude stutters to a stop, looking genuinely thunderstuck. "Sorry, that's not what I'm trying to do." He puts up both hands in a placating gesture. "Honest. I was just trying to make conversation."

  
Byleth stops walking too. People rarely make conversation with her, when they get to know her. She's been called cold, aloof, arrogant, and many more unpleasant things she'd never wish on her worse enemies. Her expression visibly softens when she sees Claude's charming mask fall away in that instant, exposing authentic apprehension beneath. 

  
"Well," she says, more gently now, "I'm going home. Are you planning to follow me all the way there?"

  
Claude averts his eyes at the change in her demeanor. "I wasn't going to follow you _all_ the way home," he says jokingly. "Maybe just half way."

  
Byleth smiles, although she's aware that when she does, no one besides her father can really tell. "We can talk at class. Or, if you'd prefer, we can have tea somewhere and you can tell me what's on your mind."

  
Claude looks at her out of the corner of his eye, and if she were better acquainted with social norms, she'd almost say he was blushing. "You like tea?" he asks, not responding to her offer.

  
Byleth nods. "I like to experiment. Do you have a place you recommend?"

  
Claude shrugs, the mask slipping back on. "No, but I have a blend that I like."

  
"And what is that?"

  
Claude winks at her. "It's a secret, Teach. I can bring you some, though."

  
Byleth nods. "I'd like that. Goodnight, Claude. See you in class." 

  
Claude stares after her until she crosses the intersection and disappears in the crowd.

* * *

  
It's been a busy few weeks since Claude has had the chance to bother Byleth outside of class.

  
"Teach, you busy?" Claude knocks on Byleth's office door, but it's already ajar. He pushes it open and then straightens when he sees who's in it.

  
"One of your students, professor?" says Rhea, smiling coolly at Claude. 

  
Byleth, who in Claude's humble opinion looks frighteningly guarded, nods. "Yes, this is Claude. He's in my track. Claude, I'm not sure if you two have met. This is Rhea, the headmistress of the school."

  
Claude nods, painting on his most polite and guileless smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you, headmistress."

  
"Oh, there's no need for formalities. Rhea is fine," she says, her smile never reaching her eyes. Rhea turns to Byleth. "Please, think about my offer. I'll be on my way now." Rhea reaches down to retrieve her white leather handbag and exits the room. 

  
Byleth releases a breath she doesn't realize she's holding in. "Did you need something, Claude?"

  
"I actually came by because I needed some help fine-tuning my recital piece. I was hoping you might have some pointers, Teach."

  
Byleth visibly relaxes and gestures to her guest chair. "Of course, I'd be happy to help you with that. It's been some time since I've played the violin, but--"

  
"I bet it's nothing you can't handle," he says easily.

  
Byleth gives him a rare smile. "Yes, that's right."

  
Claude takes out his sheet music; it's mostly made of up chicken scratches and the occasional legible bar. 

  
"Are you expecting me to read this?" Byleth deadpans before he even finishes smoothing it out. 

  
"Ouch! Teach!" He claps a hand over his heart in mock agony. "That's harsh!"

  
"Claude," she shakes her head, "I only have the next thirty minutes available. There is zero possibility that I'll be able to translate this as well as coach you in that time. I'm afraid you'll need to redo this and make sure it's legible. Consider using some sheet-writing software."

  
The frown on his face tells her he doesn't want to wait another precious week for office hours to open back up again. Byleth can tell this recital is one of the rare things he seems to be taking seriously.

  
With a sigh, she pushes the pages back at Claude. "Bring me a legible version of this on Friday, and we can discuss it over tea at my place."

  
"But I have a date on Friday."

  
Byleth glares at him, and he breaks into a shit-eating grin. "Do you want help with this or not?"

  
"Aw, Teach, is that jealousy? I was joking about the date. Friday's are for fun; why do you want to do this on Friday?"

  
"It's cruel to expect a sloth like yourself to make this legible by tomorrow, and I'm busy until Friday. Unless you'd prefer to wait until next week after all?" 

  
Claude shoves the papers back into his bag. "Friday works." His eyes flicker over the planner that's laying open on her desk, but he doesn't find any interesting clues written there. 

  
Byleth, by coincidence or by realization, shuts her planner closed in front of him. She pulls out one of her business cards and scrawls an address and time on the back, and hands it to him. "I'll see you then." 

  
Claude slips it into his back pocket with a wink. "It's a date, Teach."

* * *

  
When Friday rolls around, Claude heads out early. He's locking his room behind him when Lorenz steps out of the communal bathroom, dark hair damp but otherwise impeccably dressed as if he's going out.

  
"You have a date?" Claude asks, smirking. 

  
Lorenz scoffs, gesturing at Claude's mundane, casual outfit. "Is a date necessary in order to look socially acceptable?" 

  
"No date then?" Claude leans against the door, a ghost of a smile on his lips. 

  
Lorenz splutters. "That is none of your business, Claude. And where are you off to with your violin? I've never seen you take it out of your room." 

  
"Let a man have his secrets, Lorenz," Claude replies coyly, winking. He disappears down the stairs before Lorenz can stop him. 

  
As soon as he breaches the tall trees that surround the school, Claude feels the heat of the late afternoon sun warm his skin. Milling about him are many couples, from school and from the surrounding town alike. It's always interesting to Claude how much better dressed people tend to be while on dates. Back at Garreg Mach, most of the students dress casually, or at least simply, unless they're performing. He's worn enough black t-shirts with a bright yellow vertical slash down the back to have people like Lorenz wondering if he can even afford to buy himself new clothes. 

  
The fastest way to his destination cuts through a local park. It's popular spot for students and visitors alike. In the middle of the park sits a picturesque, vintage bench with an uninhibited view of a duck pond. Claude slows to a stop as he approaches the faculty residential buildings, about a mile away from the central campus and just on the outskirts of the park. The complexes look largely identical, only two stories each, each housing four apartment units by the looks of it. 

  
It's easy to find Byleth's unit, on the bottom floor. He steps onto the small porch, knuckles raised to knock when he hears the notes of a violin behind the door.

  
Claude drops his hand, leaning his head forward in concentration to listen more closely. It's Byleth playing. He runs a hand across his face. It's beautiful, just unspeakably beautiful. She never plays for the class, but her students always ask her to.

  
The notes leap with an effortless playfulness that he's not used to. She's playing something fast-paced, fun, something that would get a room dancing together. It's wholly unlike and yet just as technically powerful as what she played on that stage when he saw her for the first time. So the Ashen Demon knows how to have fun, after all, Claude thinks with a smile.

  
Suddenly, the music stops. Claude leans back just as the door swings open. 

  
Byleth's lips lift ever so slightly. "I thought you might be there." She's dressed in her usual teaching garb, not a single fiber out of place.

  
"I thought you said it's been a 'while' since you played the violin," he retorts.

  
"It has," she replies. "About two years."

  
"Two years?" he blurts. "And you play like that?" 

  
Byleth brings a hand to her face, a gesture meant to stifle a laugh although she doesn't actually laugh. "I didn't take you for such an impressionable musician. Why don't you come in?" She opens the door wider to let him through. 

  
His eyes scan the inside of her apartment, searching for personal affects. Even to Claude's well-trained eyes, her apartment looks identical to the furnished apartments in the Garreg Mach's faculty pamphlets. Aside from a violin resting in its case, a music stand, and a piano next to the couch, he could be stepping into anyone's apartment. There are no photos on the walls, no trinkets on the counters, not even a throw pillow on the couch. 

  
"Would you like some tea?" asks Byleth. 

  
Claude grins, quickly producing a silver canister out of his backpack. "I brought you some, like I said I would."

  
Byleth takes the unmarked canister, lifting the lid and wafting the scent up to her nose with her fingers. "I don't think I've ever had this before. It smells...like the outdoors, but not from around here. What's it called?"

  
"I'll let you figure that out on your own."

  
Byleth watches him with curiosity. A moment passes before she turns on her heel and heads into the kitchen to brew them a fresh pot. When she returns, she sets the fresh tea on the coffee table and hands him a dainty porecelain cup. "I also have some sweets, if you'd like them," she offers.

  
"I didn't take you for a baker, Teach."

  
"I don't bake. I purchased them from down the street."

  
"I don't have much of a sweet tooth, but thank you for the offer." Claude takes a sip of the tea, and a flood of nostalgic warms him to the bone. 

  
Byleth sits across from him. "Shall we begin? Did you bring your sheet music?"

  
Claude produces them with a flourish. "Impressively legible, wouldn't you say?" 

  
Byleth makes a sound in the back of her throat, flipping through the sheets with idle curiosity. "Did you write this yourself?" When he doesn't respond, she nods as if to confirm it herself. "I notice you don't have a title for this piece."

  
Claude shrugs. "Not the type of guy to put a label on everything." A pause. "What would you name it?"

  
Byleth hands the pages back to him. "Why don't you tell me about what you'd like to accomplish by playing this piece? And I can tell you what I think, although I don't suggest naming something unless you name it yourself."

  
Harmony, she tells him later.

  
_I think what you want to call this is Harmony._

* * *

  
With recitals behind them, it suddenly feels as if the year has been placed on fast-forward. The days fly by in a flurry of exams, group rehearsals, and weekend practice. 

  
Byleth leads them all through grueling training sessions, but there's something to be said of her rigor, because it's clear to the rest of the conversatory that all of her students rank academically amongst the top of their year. Rhea, the headmistress, even stops by to audit some of her sessions toward the end of the year.

  
Claude isn't sure what Rhea's interest in Byleth is, but from his short time with her, he thinks it must not be good. When Rhea stops by unannounced in their classroom, there's a chill in the room that he can't shake. Byleth's leniency and easy familiarity with her students disappears during those visits. 

  
Claude intends to ask her about it, but he spends too long unable to come up with a good excuse to bring it up. 

  
It turns out he never gets the chance to.

* * *

  
Byleth stays late in the office grading the student's final papers. She intends to get it to them before the last day of class, so they can enjoy their breaks peacefully before the new school year begins. After all, next year, they may not be her students anymore. 

  
As she reads through Hilda's paper, which she finds vastly superior to her previous submissions, she gets a call on her cellphone.

  
Precious few people have her phone number. Byleth glances over and, sure enough, it's her father. 

  
She presses the phone to her ear, eyes continuing to flick through the contents of the paper. "Hello?"

  
"Hey, kid. You still at the office?" The ambient noise coming from the call is rather jarring and loud, as if he's speaking with her from a very busy street.

  
"Yes," she replies. "Final papers."

  
"You're always keeping yourself busy, you know that? Nothing wrong with slowing down a little." Jeralt laughs. "I bet those papers can wait."

  
Byleth hums. "Perhaps. Is there something you need?"

  
Jeralt pauses for a long while. "Look at you, kid. Always so practical." She can hear the smile in his voice. "Care to join your old man for a drink?"

  
Byleth considers it; she's not particularly fond of beer, like him, but it's not often they spend time together now that she teaches full-time. "Where should I meet you?"

  
"Golden Deer, corner of Fifth and Central."

  
"I can be there in twenty minutes," Byleth replies, standing up and slipping on her black overcoat. 

  
"Alright, see you soon, kid." 

  
There's another long pause.

  
Byleth waits. Sometimes, it takes time for her father to say things. She's the same way. 

  
"I'm really proud of you."

  
Byleth's face breaks into a large smile. From the way he says goodbye, she's sure he can tell.

  
It doesn't take long for Byleth to reach the intersection where the tavern is, but it's crowded beyond belief. Byleth pokes her head above the crowd, enough to see the bright glare of police lights. 

  
Byleth catches a few words of the strangers packed beside her. 

  
_An accident._

  
_Back-up; this is a crime scene._

  
_Please, remain calm._

  
Byleth's ears begin to ring.

  
Byleth shoves herself to the front of the crowd. It feels as if her heart's fallen through her stomach. She claps a hand to her mouth to keep from screaming. The ringing in her ears doesn't stop.

* * *

  
Soon, it's all over campus.

  
Claude can't stop hearing the story over and over again. It makes him wonder what it must be like for her right now. If he can't escape it, how can she?

  
A mugging gone wrong, they say. 

  
Jeralt Eisner, dead.

  
Byleth doesn't show up for class, not that anyone expects to her to. Professor Hanneman, a professor of musical history, shows up in her stead. He doesn't say a word about whether she'll be returning. Campus security is tightened following the attack, but no one feels particularly safe with the perpetrator on the loose.

  
Leonie misses an entire day of school. When she returns the next day, her eyes are red and puckered from crying, tear stains still clearly visible on her cheeks. 

  
They don't wait until after class. They just go up to hug her, and they all hold each other. 

  
Hilda organizes flowers. 

  
Leonie buys a card and passes it around. 

  
It takes Claude forever to think of something. It feels like there's no place for a person like him on a card like this.

  
In the end, he writes it simply.

  
_Miss you, Teach._

* * *

  
Claude arrives early. The conservatory hasn't changed much, from the outside. To kill time before the rest of them arrive, he revisits his old dorm room. The entire building is empty; all the students are on summer break and won't be back until the fall. Claude almost laughs to himself when he pushes the door open. His old room is so small, smaller than he remembers honestly. In his mind's eye, he can still see the mess of his sheets and books all over the floor. Now he lives in a ridiculous mansion too big for himself.

  
He walks down familiar pathways, feet taking him to his favorite classroom. It's been five years since he's been inside it, but all the furniture looks the same. It's missing the instruments, but that's to be expected. He shuts the door, humming a song that hasn't landed in his throat since his school days.

  
On his way back to the hotel, there's a gorgeous orange glow in the sky as the sun begins to set. He changes into something more presentable and heads back over to the school for the alumni reunion party.

  
"Is that you, Claude?" Hilda greets him with a gasp. "Wow, look at you! So grown up!" She throws her arms around him in an easy hug.

  
"You're one to talk," Claude replies with a quirk of the lips. 

  
Hilda tosses her long, pink tresses over her shoulder. "I put a lot of work into this, you know. It's not easy to be this cute."

  
"Hey, there he is!" shouts Raphael, easily parting the crowd to reach him. He gives him a slap on the back, nearly knocking him over. 

  
Claude smilles up at his old friend. "Good to see you too, Raphael."

  
"Claude!" Ignatz reaches them, holding a glass of champagne. "Wow, I didn't expect to see you here to be honest!"

  
"Yeah, aren't you supposed to be running a company these days?" Leonie says from behind him. She's even taller than he remembers. 

  
"You grew out your hair!" exclaims Hilda approvingly. "Not you," Hilda tells Claude pointedly, flicking a lock of hair out of his face. "You're just trying to show off." 

  
"What can I say?" Claude says with mock exasperation, raking a hand through his hair. "Even a hot-shot like me needs to keep up appearances. I can't just go disappearing on my alma mater."

  
"I daresay, you could _stand_ to be a little more loyal to your old school," Lorenz states, although its usual bite is nowhere to be found. "I've attended every fundraiser since we graduated."

  
"Not all of us have that kind of money just lying around, Lorenz," Leonie reminds him sharply. "I'm still paying off my student loans, thank you very much."

  
"Has anyone seen Lysithea or Marianne?" 

  
"Lysithea's by the cakes, of course," Hilda says. "Marianne said she had to go the bathroom, but she should be back out in a minute. You know what, maybe I should go check up on her..." And with that, Hilda meanders off, gently shoving people out of the way as she makes her way to the bathrooms. 

  
Claude scans the rest of the room, and naturally Hilda's right about Lysithea, but when he doesn't find the face he's looking for, he finally lets himself get roped into the small talk and idle gossip of the evening.

* * *

  
Claude takes the long way back to the hotel. It's a warm night, so he throws his suit jacket across one shoulder and rolls up his sleeves, loosening the buttons around his collar. On his way back, he passes a familiar park. From his vantage point, it looks empty so he decides to walk through it for old time's sake. It's the same park he'd sometimes pass when he went over to Byleth's place for tea. He absently wonders if she still lives in that residential complex, although he knows she's no longer affiliated with the school anymore, not after Rhea's sudden resignation.

  
The soft glow of street lamps light his way. There's that bench he remembers that overlooks the manmade pond at the center of the park. He glances up as he approaches, and abruptly stops where he is.

  
Byleth sits alone on the bench, holding a steaming beverage in her hands. She sips it, a faraway look on her face. Claude feels a strange sense of déjà vu, like he's trying to balance himself on a moving ship. But when he stops so suddenly, she looks right at him. It takes her some time to recognize him, but when she does, her dark blue eyes widen in shock.

  
His lips curve into a smile. "Hey, Teach. Long time no see." He strolls up to her, and she moves over for him to sit.

  
"You look," Byleth tilts her head, "different." 

  
Claude manages a laugh, but he wants to say and do so much more. He rubs the beginnings of his beard idly. "And you haven't changed at all, have you?" He could be looking through a time portal, for how little she's changed.

  
Byleth looks down at her clothes. Indeed, they're the same black, nondescript clothes she's used to. Not even her long coat has changed. The years clearly haven't influenced her sense of style. She's quiet, looking back at the pond in front of them.

  
"Do you still live around here?" He follows her eyes to the building across the street, where he used to go to visit her.

  
"I moved a few years ago," Byleth admits, "but it's nearby. And you?" 

  
Claude leans back on the bench, letting his eyes trail over the bright stars in the sky. "I live in Derdriu now."

  
"I'm sorry I wasn't there for your graduation," she says, surprising him. 

  
Claude chuckles. "I wasn't there either, so you didn't miss much." He props his head in his hand, glancing over at her. "My grandfather passed away before I could graduate, so I dropped out and had to take over Alliance."

  
"I'm...sorry," she says quietly.

  
Claude shrugs. "We weren't close." He finds himself staring at her, trying to find any trace of the years gone by in her expression. If she's bothered by it, she doesn't say.

  
"What are you doing back here?" 

  
He smirks. "Having a party. It's too bad you missed it, Teach."

  
He can't tell under the lights, but he likes to think that maybe her cheeks warmed up a little. "I'm not your teacher anymore."

  
"You'll always be 'Teach' to me," Claude responds, too easily.

  
"Do you still play?"

  
Claude flexes his fingers, looking at them thoughtfully before tucking his chin back into it. "Every day."

  
Byleth smiles at him. If that's pride he sees in her eyes, it's the first time he has every seen it directed at him. 

  
The scent of her tea is familiar. 

  
"Almyran Pine Needle," she says. "I'm quite fond of it. Thank you." The answer to a riddle over five years old.

  
He breaks into a grin that lights up his whole face. "You're full of surprises."

  
She stands up, and then holds out her hand to him. He takes it, and when he stands, Byleth has to tilt her head up to maintain eye contact. Claude is a lot taller and broader now, with the same boyish grin. "Will you be staying here long?"

  
His flight leaves in the morning. "A few days," he says.

  
"Would you like to come by for tea tomorrow?"

  
"I'd love that."

* * *

  
He knows he doesn't have long, so he finally braves the subject after some irrelevant small talk.

  
"What was your relationship with Rhea?" As soon as the words leave his lips, it feels too brusque, too invasive, but Claude's always been a man after secrets and that's been one thing he doesn't know how to hide.

  
Byleth's teacup stops millimeters from her lips. "You were always a sharp one. I thought you'd ask me one day." 

  
His lips twitch, and he wonders how he can be so transparent to her. 

  
She sets the tea back down, as if the mention of the former headmistress has cooled her appetite. "Rhea's family...in some ways." Byleth sees the easy, confident charm on Claude's face bleed away, replaced with rapt attention. "She's my grandmother, but not by birth. My mother was adopted. When Rhea found me, there was a part of her that thought I belonged to her."

  
Claude's mouth tightens as he thinks of his grandfather, of how that man had wrested control of him from his parents when he discovered Claude's talent for music and violin. "I know what you mean."

  
"She wanted us to be close. She had been planning to retire for some time, and she wanted me to be her successor."

  
Claude startles. "You? Not Seteth? But he basically runs the place."

  
Byleth's shoulders move in a facsimile of a shrug. "When she wants something, it's not easy to change her mind."

  
Claude's not surprised in the least to hear that. "And you never did take up her post." 

  
"I don't intend to, no. It's better in Seteth's hands."

  
Byleth retrieves a pastry from the dessert plate in front of them, gently breaking off a piece with a fork and popping it into her mouth. He watches her tongue glide out from between her lips, clearing stray crumbs until all that's left is a sheen on the pink of her mouth. She watches him watch, and doesn't pick up the pastry a second time.

  
"Not one for decorations, Teach?" Claude inquiries, to recover himself, gesturing to the empty walls of her new apartment. 

  
Byleth's eyes slide toward her closed bedroom door. "I'm not very sentimental."

  
Her lying face.

* * *

  
Claude's stolen few days pass too quickly. They take a casual stroll through the park a few times, and meet for lunch at a nearby cafe once or twice. He receives a few irritated texts from Nader, which he pointedly ignores.

  
At one point, Claude tries goading her into playing something for him, but she declines. 

  
"Perhaps next time, if there is one," she says, a ghost of a smile on her lips. 

  
"Aw, you shy, Teach?" he asks her playfully, leaning forward until their faces almost touch across the cafe table. He's laying it on a little thick, perhaps. But now that he's older, he's not too shy about going after what he wants.

  
Byleth's slow blink and the faint dust of a blush across her cheeks keeps Claude's thoughts warm long after they part and keep him company all the way to the airport.

  
"Where the hell have you been, kiddo?" Nader growls at him through the phone as Claude boards a private jet back to Alliance headquarters. 

  
"Age must be getting to you, Nader," Claude quips as an attendant takes his bags to stow for take-off. "Garreg Mach reunion party, don't you remember?"

  
Nader sounds like he wants to strangle him through the lines. "You were supposed to be back three days ago."

  
"I must have misread some emails," Claude says, lips curling into a smile. "You know how busy things can get. I have to go, Nader. They're telling me phones off for take-off." 

  
Nader starts sending angry emails after the line goes dead.

* * *

  
"You seem distracted," says Hilda with a grimace, throwing her bubblegum pink hair over her shoulder. "That's so very unlike you, Claude." 

  
Claude shuffles the proposal papers around on the very large conference table. "Just wondering how you get your hair that color."

  
"Hair dye, you clown. Are you going to consider Holst's proposal or not? I don't have all day to play messenger." Hilda taps her manicured nails across the table restlessly. "I only came because I thought it'd be fun to work with an old friend, but...there must be something more interesting on your mind. What is it?" 

  
The intrepid stare that Hilda gives him unsettles him. Claude's always been sharp, but in the past five years, Hilda's natural prowess for pulling secrets out of people has been honed to a knife's edge. To must everyone else, he just seems busy, but the way she looks at him with that impish quirk to her lips, she already has something on him.

  
"It's Ignatz. He went to art school after all. Good for him, right?"

  
"Liar." But there's no bite. A cat-like grin unfurls on her face. "I bet it's a girl."

  
Claude doesn't rise to take the bait, leaving his face carefully blank. "I thought you wanted to talk about this proposal."

  
Hilda pulls out her cellphone, rapidly texting someone and Claude feels something akin to a bead of sweat make its way down his neck. "Oh, I do, of course." She slips the phone back into her pocket, a sinister smile on that cheerful face. "Let's get to it, shall we?"

* * *

  
Claude starts to both impress and annoy people who work for him at Alliance Music. For months, he outpaces everyone's expectations on the amount of work he can get done. To his closests allies, it's as if someone has lit a fire under his ass despite no deadlines in sight. In those same months, he occassionally disappears for an entire day or weekend, seemingly at random. Claude hops on a plane without notifying anyone except his pilot and then shows up again, clearing the work that piles up in his absence without so much as a whisper of complaint.

  
For Byleth, halfway across the country, Claude appears in town sporadically and invites her to the occassional coffee, walk, or orchestral concert. He tells her he's in town for work, but she never seems him so much as open his phone to check his emails around her. She's rather puzzled by his behavior, but she doesn't mind the company. She finds it endearing that an old student wants to spend time with her. It breaks up the monotony of her work as a private music tutor.

  
"Is work keeping you busy?" she inquiries, as Claude heaves a long sigh from his seat opposite her. "You seem to have a lot on your mind."

  
Claude rakes a hand through his hair. "It's more that I keep myself busy, Teach."

  
"I'm not your teacher anymore, Claude," Byleth reminds him firmly but gently. 

  
Claude shoots her a grin. "Then what should I call you?"

  
Byleth pauses. "My name works just fine."

  
"Byleth," he tries, smirking. "Is that what you prefer?"

  
She turns her head away, hair swaying to cover her expression. "That should suffice."

  
Claude's phone rings and he moves to silence it with a knot of irritation.

  
_Hilda calling..._

  
Claude stares at the phone a moment longer before Byleth's words reach him.

  
"Is that Hilda out there?"

  
Claude jerks his head up suddenly. Beyond the cafe window stands an incredibly smug and smartly-dressed young woman with hair the color of bubblegum. When they make eye contact, she waggles her fingers at Claude in greeting and points to her phone, which is calling his phone. 

  
"We should go and say hi. It's been a long time." Byleth leans over to ask the waiter for the check. 

  
Claude decides he'll do whatever it takes to ruin Hilda's next date in retribution. He gets up from his seat with a sigh, leaving a large tip behind. 

  
"What a surprise to see you here, Hilda," remarks Claude as he reaches her outside. 

  
Hilda tucks the phone away in her pocket. "I'd say it was a surprise to see you here too, Claude..." Hilda trails off, watching Byleth approach them. "But we both know that's not true."

  
Hilda surprises Byleth with an embrace when she nears them. "Professor! It's been a such a long time! I'm so happy to see you!"

  
Byleth awkwardly pats her ex-student on the back, feeling rather disarmed. "Hello, Hilda. It's wonderful to see you again. What brings you back to town?"

  
"Oh, same as Claude, I presume." Hilda releases her old teacher and her eyes slide over to Claude meaningfully. " _Work._ "

  
Hilda invites them for a casual dinner out, which Byleth agreeably accepts, and Claude feels all but helpless to join. Hilda regales them with tales of her new job working at her brother's company, and the how much she enjoys traveling around the country. Claude receives a text from Hilda moments after dinner ends. 

  
_"Can't keep a secret from me, Mr. Schemer. When's the wedding?"_

* * *

  
_"Does the Professor even know you two are dating?"_ A series of cry-laugh emojis follow Hilda's text. She hasn't let it go for weeks.

  
Claude doesn't bother to respond. Instead, he has his company expedit processing of Holst's proposal, forcing Hilda to drown in work on her end.

  
He suspects Hilda's right though. He's not the kind of person to put a label on things, but he figures Byleth sees him entirely too platonically.

  
He's been making excuses to see her for months. It's not like he's gotten her flowers, although she rather charitably gifted him a board game for his birthday. He plays it solo during the plane rides over, imagining himself playing against her.

  
"Something going on at work?"

  
Claude starts, looking up from his phone at Byleth. A slew of urgent emails from his legal team dominants his inbox. He sighs, extravagantly placing his hands behind his head. "I'm wrapping up some important things at work. It's being blown out of proportion, that's all." 

  
"Are you at liberty to disclose what these important things are?" Byleth asks, with a quirk of the lips. 

  
Claude winks. "It's a secret, but I could be convinced to drop a few hints for the right price."

  
Byleth swirls the wine in her glass and then drains what little remains in it. "And what would that be?" she remarks, with the barest trace of playfulness.

  
"A secret for a secret, Byleth," he proposes. 

  
Byleth gestures to a waiter in the restaurant for their bill. She puts down her credit card, giving him a fierce look that dares him to try to counter it. 

  
When they leave the restaurant, Byleth pulls on her familiar black overcoat over a new black dress she's wearing. It's not terribly different from her old clothes, but has an accent of pink along the neckline. 

  
Oh, and it's sleeveless. Claude does not fail to notice that.

  
"I don't have any secrets to offer you."

  
Claude hums, mind already working all other options. He finds one he likes. "What if you play for me? I'll tell you anything you want to know."

  
"How enticing. I'll have to think about that."

  
Claude reaches her for hand just as she's tucking a stray lock behind her ear. "Could you think about it faster, Byleth?" he says, leaning in close before he gently releases her hand.

  
There's a sudden flush of color on her face that he enjoys. "What instrument would you like to listen to?"

  
"The cello." 

  
"You get one song, Claude." She sticks her pointer finger up toward the sky. "One. And I'm telling you now, it's not going to be a long one."

  
"So, your place then?" 

  
Byleth shoves him lightly with his shoulder, forcing him to grin. "Don't insinuate so loudly."

  
"Oh, but it's definitely okay to insinuate as long as I whisper?" he breathes into the shell of her ear, making her stiffen for the briefest second.

  
She unceremoniously lets him into her apartment and sheds her coat. The back of her dress is cut low, nearly to the waist, and Claude stares like parched man by the shore of an oasis. Before he can even set his jacket down, she's already made a bee-line for her cello case, as if she wants to complete this silly exchange and get him out of here. She sweeps her long, dark hair to one side of her neck as she sets up her instrument. It doesn't take long, since she's clearly played recently, maybe even earlier this evening. She gestures broadly to her couch as she rests the cello on its stand and against her seated body. 

  
Claude obligingly sits, steepling his fingers in front of his mouth. Byleth closes her eyes, takes a breath, and plays an old battle hymn, a favorite of hers that Jeralt taught her. He expects it to be beautiful, but it's more than that.

  
Claude finds himself closing his eyes too, letting himself hear rather than see her play. It's over a lot faster than he expects.

  
Byleth smiles over at him when he opens his eyes. "I told you it wouldn't be a long one." She sets the bow down back into the case. "Now, about that secret?"

  
"That feels a little bit like cheating to me."

  
"A deal is a deal," she retorts lightly.

  
"I'm resigning."

  
Byleth blinks in surprise, a small dip appearing in her brow. "From Alliance?"

  
"That's right."

  
"So, all this work you're doing?" 

  
"Well, _this_ ," he raises his eyebrows, "isn't work. I don't know what this is, really. But, yes, when I'm in Derdriu I'm tying up loose ends before I move on."

  
Byleth seems to ignore his veiled remark. "Where to?"

  
"I'm returning to Almyra. Family business."

  
Byleth starts, all the levity drained from her face. A frown forms on her face as her gaze goes to the floor.

  
Claude tilts his head. "C'mon, Teach, I thought you'd be more curious about my secrets."

  
"I take it you won't be visiting nearly as often then." She smiles, but it's thin.

  
The green in Claude's eyes darken, like a forest at night. "Do you want me to?' He stands up, closing the distance between them, his heart hammering in his chest.

  
Byleth gasps when he takes her hand, slowly bringing it to his face. He gently brushes her fingers against his lips, watching her for any sign that she doesn't want him to.

  
"All you have to do is say the word, Byleth."

  
Byleth stares up at him, her blue eyes wide. They're so alert and aware of him, he feels like his heartstrings are being played. She closes her eyes, and kisses him.

  
And just like that, Claude finally gets the duet he's been waiting for. He pulls her closer, moaning when she deepens the kiss, her fingers tangling into his hair.

  
Byleth breaks for air with a gasp, but Claude doesn't stop. He nips at her neck. The way she clutches him more tightly, he can tell she likes it. His hands start to roam down her exposed back before giving her ass a squeeze.

  
"Claude," Byleth utters sharply, clutching the front of his shirt so hard he feels a button snap off.

  
"Do you want me to stop?" 

  
Byleth responds by desperately trying to undo all the buttons on his shirt. She locks her lips with his, tongue exploring his mouth. He growls, lifting her easily from the floor and making a messy march into her bedroom. The door swings open with a bang, but they both ignore it. A framed photograph on her nightstand wobbles, but remains upright. 

  
When he tips her onto the bed, feels the hard press of his desire through their clothes, Byleth feels a heat burn through her down to her core. She moans, shucking off his shirt as he starts to undo her dress. She's not wearing her lace tights. Claude would have ached to play with her through them. With their clothes and shoes flung off onto the bedroom floor, his hands begin to touch her, string-calloused fingers rolling the pert peaks of her naked breasts. 

  
Byleth's hips buck into his. "Claude," she hisses, " _please_."

  
His lips grin against her skin. She can feel him kissing her lower, and lower. Byleth feels hot with want, chest heaving to catch her breath.

  
His tongue laves circles into her inner thigh, and she feels a wetness quickly pooling in between her legs. Her jaw clenches, and she can't help but arch into him. 

  
"I fucking knew it," she gasps, fingers gripping the sheets with such desperation her knuckles turn white.

  
Claude starts to pull down her panties with his teeth, but he stops when she speaks, making her groan in absolute frustration. "Knew what?"

  
Byleth looks at him with lust-darkened eyes, at the vision of him waiting patiently between her thighs. "That you'd be a troublemaker."

  
Claude chuckles, throwing her panties to the floor. "Byleth, that should have been the least of your worries."

  
When he begins to kiss and lick her, Byleth moans, eyes fluttering shut. 

  
Byleth says nothing but his name for the rest of the night.

  
And in the morning, tucked into the curve of his arms, Byleth says, "I'd like you to visit me when you can."

  
Claude chuckles into her neck, kissing it for good measure. "As if I was ever going to give you a choice."

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to a fun, little ficlet AU that turned into this entire monstrosity. This is all because I love listening to string instrument music and imagined Byleth as a cellist.
> 
> It didn't fit very well anywhere in the ending, but the framed photo mentioned on Byleth's nightstand if of Jeralt and toddler!Byleth, after one of his performances. Jeralt is holding Byleth's hand, and it is one of the most sentimental things Byleth owns in this universe.
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed! Comments are greatly welcome and very motivating.


End file.
